Page 37 of My Secret Snowflake
“Do you still like her?”
“Yes.” I shrug. “Getting over it.”
“That’s hard.”
My mouth dips down, and I look away. “It’s brutal. But I’ll be happy for her.” I shake my head.
Iris just gazes at me, her brown-flecked green eyes melting my defenses.
“But it’s not like we have the same relationship anymore. I’m a friend now, and I’m definitely second place to her fiancé. Obviously. I’m coming to terms with it.” I down the coffee the bartender serves me.
“And you haven’t dated anyone since?” she asks.
“I have, but I didn’t feel that same about them—and then, breaking up is brutal. It’s not like Iliketelling someone I don’t want to date anymore.”
“Hmm.” Iris’s gaze is so soft.
“Have you dated anyone since Patrick?”
She shakes her head, and a shadow crosses over her face.
I want to make that shadow disappear. I shift on the hard wooden bar stool.
“So now you can definitely tell me what you were going to say when you hoisted me through the window?” she asks.
“No. I can’t,” I say.
“But aren’t we more than work colleagues now?” she asks.
“Yes, but we’re friends. And what I thought was…” Definitely inappropriate. Definitely not in the friend territory.
She leans forward. “Was?”
Rose comes up. “It’s time for the games to start—while the DJ takes a break.”
“You were saved by Rose.” Iris stands. “I don’t know what Elban was putting in my orange juice, but I definitely think he’s making them way too strong. I need a glass of water. Do you want one?” She goes behind the bar and pours one for each of us. She rings a bell hanging from the side of the bar, which causes everyone to stop talking, and then she turns on a microphone. “Let’s give a hurray for the happy couple.” The crowd cheers. “And now let’s start the games. The scavenger hunt is outside, so take the clue sheets by the door and go for it. The cold should sober us all up.”
We all grab our coats.
“I can’t compete because I know all the answers,” Iris says, “but you could do it.”
“I’d rather hang out with you,” I say. “And you already told me some of the clues, so maybe we can just walk down the street and you can give me a personal tour.”
We walk side by side down the street.
The chill is definitely sobering me up. I pull up my collar. My ears are freezing.
She shows me the metal stag outside Café Katja and the colorful globes outside Sticky Rice.
“What’s great about this block is that all the family businesses look out for one another, kind of an ‘all for one, one for all’ dynamic,” she says.
“That’s special—and rare,” I say.
“Do you think so?” she asks, turning to face me. The soft glow from the streetlight frames her face. Her huge eyes look both quizzical and sad.
“Yes. That’s definitely not what happened in my family business between the other founder’s son and me. His attitude was more ‘all for me,’” I say, the bitterness still evident in my voice.
“What happened?”
